


Best Girl

by FreshBrains



Series: Teen Wolf Femslash Exchange Gifts [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1950s Slang, Alternate Universe - 1950s, F/F, Historical References, POV Lydia Martin, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though kids at Beacon Hills High School could be a cruel crowd, nobody got on queen-bee Lydia Martin’s bad side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murphysarc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphysarc/gifts).



> My final gift for ardencxo. Enjoy!
> 
> 1940's racism against Japanese-Americans is mentioned briefly. Period-typical homophobia is implied.
> 
> Even though it may seem like a stretch, the inspiration for this fic came from listening to Sia's "Fire Meet Gasoline," which is a song ardencxo enjoys. <3

Even though kids at Beacon Hills High School could be a cruel crowd, nobody got on queen-bee Lydia Martin’s bad side.

“Aw, come on, Lydia,” Jackson said, voice irritating and wheedling as he leaned next to Lydia's locker after her Home Economics class. “I was just having a little fun. Yukimura’s the one being an oddball.”

Lydia slammed her locker shut, startling Jackson enough for him to practically jump out of his loafers. “Jackson Whittemore, I told you that if you said one more bad thing about that girl, I’d sing to all your friends how you lost against Scott McCall on the drag last weekend. Am I making myself clear?”

Jackson paled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Cool it, mama. She’s all yours.”

Inhaling sharply through her nose, Lydia adjusted her pink cardigan around her shoulders and stomped off down towards the smoker’s alley where she knew she’d find Allison. If anyone could deal with a hubcap like Jackson, it was her leather-wearing, silver-eye-shadow-sparkling best friend.

“Whoa, dolly, you’re looking salty,” Stiles said as Lydia rounded the corner. He leaned against the brick wall with Scott on his left and Allison on his right.

“You bet I do,” Lydia said tartly. “Ally A, want to pierce a boy’s heart with an arrow this afternoon?”

Allison grinned around her cigarette. She was always up for some troublemaking. “Jackson, I’m guessing?”

“He’s after Kira again,” Lydia said. She glanced down the alley to the courtyard and smiled when she saw Kira perched on one of the wooden benches in a green dress, her hair in a gleaming brushed-under bob. “Take care of him for me?”

“No sweat,” Allison said, kissing Lydia on the cheek. Scott and Stiles followed her down the alley. “Go get your girl.”

Lydia flushed, her cheeks pink in the sunlight, and rushed across the courtyard to meet Kira. She slid onto the bench next to her and took Kira’s hand before Kira could even look up.

“I haven’t seen you all day!” Kira said, smiling sweetly. She nudged her cat-eye glasses further up her nose and closed her book on Japanese folklore. “It may sound silly, but I missed you.”

“It’s not silly,” Lydia said. She took a quick glance around before leaning in to peck Kira on the lips. “I heard about what Jackson said.”

Kira grimaced. Despite her mousy exterior, she could always fight her own battles. Lydia just liked to finish them for her. “He’s a fool. Don’t pay him any attention.”

Lydia nodded, but she wanted to get mad, wanted to berate Jackson more for bringing up the horrors Kira’s mother went through only fifteen years earlier during the war, for making fun of Kira when she wanted to learn more about her culture and history. But she knew it never made Kira feel better.

Maybe Kira was just a bit sweeter than she’d ever be.

“I love you,” Lydia said softly, playing with the hem of Kira’s dress.

Kira took her hand, lacing their fingers together and burying their hands beneath the fluffy folds of their dresses. “I love you too, silly goose.”


End file.
